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We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents is strange, bought from unknown stores. The dining table resembles the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Under the counter, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

“Yes, this is normal now,” the middle one says.

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

“Normal maybe, but not typical,” I comment.

The feline turns on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

“I liked it better when they avoided one another,” I say.

“I believe they enjoy it,” the eldest remarks. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My spouse enters.

“I thought they were going to take the scaffolding down,” she says.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I explain, “to confirm the roof repair.”

“And I said I didn’t want to wait,” she responds.

“Yes, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

“Will you phone them once more?” my spouse asks.

“I will, right after …” I reply.

The only time the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, stare at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the pets stop fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its front paws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I say. The dog barks, to back up the cat.

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

“You’ll cave in eventually,” the eldest says.

“I won’t,” I say.

“Miaow,” the feline cries. The canine barks.

“Alright then,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to see the feline dine. After the cat eats, it turns and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The cat runs, halts, turns and strikes.

“Stop it!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The following day I rise early to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The eldest's partner enters the room, ready for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

“That’ll be a nice day out for you,” she says.

“Yes it will,” I agree. “Meeting people, saying things.”

“Enjoy,” she adds, striding towards the front door.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Leaves drop off the large tree in bunches. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.